


Prologue

by dlyt



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Explosions, Gen, Pipe Bomb, Pre-Series, vampires healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9385907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlyt/pseuds/dlyt
Summary: An unseen hand comes to Nick's aid when he's injured by a pipe bomb explosion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Forever Knight, its world, and its characters do not belong to me, and this story is not intended to infringe upon the copyrights of its owners. No profit is being made from this work. It's just for fun!
> 
> Timeframe: In Nick's early Toronto days, an expansion of the incident which leads to his meeting Natalie for the first time.
> 
> Acknowledgements: Special thanks to PJ1228 for beta-reading and suggestions.
> 
> Events occurring in and dialogue from the episode, Only the Lonely, were created by James D. Parriott and Barney Cohen.

Nick inched across the debris field that had once been a store front, his progress hindered by various shrapnel shards protruding from his badly mangled body. With his one undamaged eye, he focused on his goal: a semi-circular depression in the cement subflooring of the shop. It had been the center of the blast. 

He had to get his body into that depression before he lost consciousness. He knew he was bleeding heavily, could smell his blood as it drained out of his many wounds, and he was only too aware that he would be unable to heal if he lost too much of it. If he could just get to the center, the blood would pool around him, and his body would have a chance to reabsorb enough to begin healing.

He felt and heard a "pop" in his ear as one of his ruptured eardrums repaired itself, and all at once he heard sirens. Shouting voices confirmed what his nose was also telling him: there was a gas leak somewhere. The risk of further explosions and fire was keeping the first responders at bay. 

Fire was a distant terror compared to his current crisis. He kept moving. Reach. Pull. Repeat. Don't scream. Stay awake.

Shaking from the combined effects of the blast and blood loss, he heaved himself with his last strength into the center of the depression, rolled over onto his back, and passed out. Unseen, blood flowed both from his wounds and out of the debris toward him and pooled beneath his unconscious form.

Lights flashed and sirens continued to wail, but he lay absolutely still. Not even a hint of a breath moved his body as debris settled and water dripped from ruptured pipes nearby. Unseen by mortal eyes, the wounds on Nick's body started to change. His damaged eye began to resettle itself behind a healing eyelid. Blisters on burned skin lost their angry appearance. Larger wounds slowly began to heal.  Small projectiles which had torn through his clothing and lodged in his skin were ejected as the shallow gashes eased closed.

* * * * * *

Immortal eyes regarded the process from above with cool dispassion. They sought out sources of heat in the wreckage and found the already-cooling body of a man just over a meter away from Nick. After a moment's consideration, the ancient immortal, hovering improbably above the shattered mess, reached with gloved hands to drag the body out of a tangle of debris. He carefully draped the dead man's body over Nick's before using a small knife from his pocket to open another wound in the dead man's throat. Blood flowed sluggishly out of the incision and into the pool around Nick as the body was carefully positioned to drain further. The immortal, satisfied with his work, smiled grimly. A moment later, only the echo of his supernaturally rapid departure remained.

* * * * * *

Nick awakened to the sounds of mortal speech and heartbeats echoing off tiled cement walls. He could smell blood, his own and that of others, all around him, along with the strong odor of chemicals. Bright artificial lights shone down on him, nearly blinding him as he opened his eyes to examine his surroundings. 

Damn! He was in a morgue, or mortuary! He knew he’d been badly wounded. The local authorities must have thought him dead. Well, they were more or less right, he thought to himself. He needed blood. He couldn’t finish healing without it, and his hunger sharpened his senses. There was a mortal nearby. She gasped as he sat up, shoving aside the shell of the body bag in which he found himself. He was tempted to take her, to satisfy his need with her life-giving blood, but he forced himself to turn away from her, searching out the other sources of blood scent close by. A refrigerator? Yes, that must be where he would find the blood he needed. He took out a bag and emptied it quickly. Funny, he thought he would be hungrier. Maybe he hadn't been injured as badly as he thought….

"Who are you? … What are you?" the woman in the white lab coat asked.

… "Something very different from you," he answered....

* * * * * *

Meanwhile, in a back room of a nightclub across town, the ancient immortal greeted his hostess with a kiss on each cheek. She shuddered as his fingertips lightly traced her jawline and trailed down the side of her throat to her bare shoulder. She captured his hand with both of her own and kissed the prominent ring on his pinky finger, closing her eyes as she did so, breathing in deeply to further capture his essence.

He smiled, warmly. "My Janette," he said in greeting.

"Lucien," she murmured in response. "When did you arrive?" She moved to offer him a drink from a dark green bottle on a side bar.

He accepted the drink and drained the glass quickly, nodding his approval as she moved to offer him more before replying, "I've only just arrived...." His voice trailed off as he drained the second glass and accepted a third, seating himself on the sofa.

"You are looking quite lovely, as ever, ma chère," he said approvingly as he took a moment to examine her from his seated position. She turned, modeling her strapless, tea length dress for him. "Nightclub ownership appears to suit you."

She smiled, basking in his approval. "It has its advantages," she allowed. "Will you need a place to stay? You are welcome here. I have plenty of room." 

He nodded slowly as he savored the drink in his hand. He had anticipated the offer, expected it, really. He was her sire, after all, the one who had given her immortality. He was due some measure of deference. For the moment, though, he had more pressing matters on his mind.

"How long has Nicholas been here?" His question chilled the warmth of their reunion. He wasn't here just to visit her, after all. She couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or worried. Suddenly she was concerned for her brother. What were LaCroix’s intentions towards Nicolas?

She turned away from him, concealing her anxiety with long practiced ease. "I'm not sure," she responded quietly. "Just over a year now, I think."

"You think?"

She took a moment to pull a cigarette from its case and light it. Taking a deep drag, she sighed. "I'm not sure because I haven't seen him. I've only sensed his presence."

LaCroix scowled now, and she quickly added, "I'm not shielding my presence from him. He knows where I am. He hasn't sought me out." After a moment she continued, thoughtfully, "I don't think he's hiding from me. He's withdrawn from the entire Community."

LaCroix's scowl deepened.

"Please, LaCroix, don't be angry with me. When I first sensed him, I hoped he would come see me, but when he didn’t, I expected him to move on. It wasn't until he'd been here awhile that I thought perhaps he might actually be planning to stay."

He read the fear in her eyes and in the sudden flood of emotion that cascaded through the psychic link that joined them. She was concerned for Nicolas, and she was afraid that LaCroix would think she had been sheltering or hiding him. She knew now that LaCroix had not come just to visit her. After all, he had known where she was for more than a decade, yet had not visited her even once in that time. It was LaCroix’s discovery of Nicolas’ location which precipitated the visit. LaCroix rose and moved to stand quietly just behind her.  He ran his fingertips gently up her bare arms in a soothing gesture, kissing the top of her head as she leaned back against his chest. He'd been separated from his beloved "children" -- his Janette, his Nicholas -- for too long. 

He sighed, then, and turned her to face him, taking Janette's chin in his hand and bringing her eyes up to meet his. "I'm not angry with you, Janette. Come, show me your club. It’s called The Raven, isn't it? A good name." 

He took her hand and kissed it, then allowed her to lead him out of the back and into the main room, where the musicians were just finishing packing up their instruments for the night, and the staff members were busy with cleanup and restocking for the next night. She was delighted by his interest in the Raven, which she sensed was genuine, and guided him on a tour of all its features.

They ended up in her apartment above the nightclub, just as the sun was rising. They sat together talking comfortably over drinks from a fresh green bottle. As she lounged on the sofa, she asked casually, "Why wait until now to come to Toronto, LaCroix? You know I've been here for years, but you've never visited before."

The question only confirmed for him what Janette had already told him. Nicholas was trying to shield himself from the Community in Toronto, including his former beloved, Janette.

He looked at her quizzically, then asked her, "Did you not feel Nicholas' distress earlier?"

"I'm not sure. I may have felt something, but it was only for a moment, and then it was gone. Why? What happened?"

"I was in Buffalo and felt him call out to me. I responded immediately, of course. He was injured in an explosion downtown tonight. People gathered on the street said he'd saved some people from a pipe bomb. You felt nothing of this?"

She looked horrified as she shook her head, no. "What did you do? Is he all right?" she asked.

"He is recovering. He was unconscious when I found him, and I 'arranged' for the blood of the mortal killed in the explosion to provide him with the nourishment he needed to heal." 

She smiled. Nicolas would have no idea that their master had aided him. Then she frowned. 'Buffalo?' She thought to herself. 'What was LaCroix doing in Buffalo?'

LaCroix, watching her closely, raised an inquiring eyebrow. She recovered her train of thought quickly. "Nicolas will not know either that you responded to his call, or that you helped him."

"No," he responded. "Nor will you tell him." His stern look told her he would tolerate no violation of this command.

"As you wish," she said. "But why, LaCroix?"

"I don't want him to know I'm near. Not yet. I want to watch for a while, see what he's up to." He turned another stern glance her way. "Don't interfere, Janette."

She sighed and lit another cigarette. She'd really have to quit one of these days.

But not today.

She had inquiries to make. Did she know anyone ... in ... Buffalo?


End file.
